I spent two days… trying to understand a fly. It landed on my head. My shoulder. The bridge of my nose. Every time I tried to swat it… I struck only myself. So I stopped. …… At first, I wondered if it was trying to tell me something. ……. A messenger… disguised as an inconvenience. …… Then I wondered… how something so small could ever communicate with something so large…. A fly. A human. A whale. A mountain. A galaxy. ….. (Beat) Perhaps the only language that survives the paradox of scale… is persistence. …… It kept returning. And I kept paying attention. Then something unexpected happened…. ……. The question changed. No longer… “What is the fly trying to tell me?” But… “If I could speak to the fly… what would I say?” …… (Music swell) I imagined that perhaps it only had hours left. A life measured in days. What wisdom could I possibly offer a creature whose entire lifetime might fit inside a single week? ……. And the answer surprised me. Not… “Beware the spiders.” Not… “Avoid the swatter.” Not even… “Here is the meaning of life.” Only this. You are safe here. Stay as long as you need. ……. Then I realized… I wasn’t talking to the fly anymore. I was describing the world I’ve been trying to build. For rabbits. For dragonflies. For foxes passing through at dusk. For deer resting quietly in the grass. For lightning bugs searching for one another before the night grows old. Perhaps… my art has never arrived as art. It arrives… as life. ……. The art… is simply what life becomes after I’ve paid enough attention to make it real.
